Reflection of a Thief
by Elissa Penworthy
Summary: Scipio remembers after Victor visits his house. Rated T for drunkenness and a poor kitty getting thrown. Please review, even if you don't have a fan-fiction account!


I'm back! And here's the new story I promised. Hope everyone enjoys!  
Tomorrow's my birthday, and guess what? You can give me the gift of a review! That would make my day. =)

Don't own _The Thief Lord_. I am not Cornelia Funke.

_"'Stop, you little rat!' Victor bellowed after him. His voice boomed through the huge house so loudly that two maids came running across the courtyard. 'Stop!' Victor bent over the balustrade and suddenly felt distinctly nauseous when he saw the drop below. 'I WILL FIND YOU, do you hear!'_

_But Scipio just made a face and ran out of the house."_

_The Thief Lord_, Ch. 17 (pg. 116)

Scipio gasped for breath and tried to blink away the tears in his eyes. His feet weren't moving fast enough. _Darn these fancy shoes!_ He wished that he was wearing the comfortable boots—he seemed to run faster in them than in any other shoes. Even the bird-beaked mask made him believe his feet had wings.

But his costume was back in his room, shoved under a bookshelf where no one could ever find it, and he couldn't go back. His father and that snooper were there, and he would not risk meeting either of them.

_How did the snooper find out about the Stella?_ Scipio wondered, narrowing his eyes angrily. _Now everything is ruined! It's not safe in the Star-Palace, the snoop is probably going to find my friends and put them all in an orphanage…_

Thinking of the snoop made Scipio even angrier. Victor's final warning still echoed in his ears: "_I WILL FIND YOU, do you hear!_" Scipio shuddered and his feet faltered, making him stumble. His father had said the same thing once. Scipio shook himself, not meeting the hostile gazes of the people who pushed their ways around him. He wove numbly through the crowds until he reached an alley, where he sat down for a while.

He rested his forehead in his hands, a soft, trembling sigh echoing through the alley. His brow furrowed and he closed his eyes against the darkness around him.

_I will find you, do you hear!_

Scipio gritted his teeth and shrank back. The echoing voice was no longer Victor's. _No, please…_ he begged. _No more…_

But it was too late. He was reliving a buried memory; he was paralyzed, unable to get away.

Scipio was nine or ten years old, a bit short for his age, and—secretly—a little short-tempered. It was late fall or early winter, and his mother and father had just separated.

That particular day, he was playing a game that he'd made up called "Thief Lord" where he would sneak around the house gathering small "treasures" like marbles, useless jewelry, and colorful pebbles.

He stuck his head around a large, ornate door and glanced around. "The coast's clear, _cara_," he whispered softly, opening the door a little wider before tiptoeing across the hardwood floor toward the giant desk in the middle of the room.

Scipio slowly opened the drawer and peered down into it. There wasn't much in it—pens, a few business cards… _there!_ Something silver caught his eye. He bent down and gingerly pried it out from under a stack of sticky notes. _Careful… careful…_

"_Mew?_"

He jumped, startled, as something furry rubbed against his leg. "Shh, _cara_. We're _sneaking_, remember?" He gently picked up his wide-eyed tabby friend and put her on top of the desk. "Got it!" He proudly dangled the silver key in front of his kitten. She pawed at the tag attached to it, which read, "_STELLA, CALLE DEL PARADISO._" Scipio's face lit up with a rare smile and he giggled before freezing. Someone was coming.

Scipio silently shut the drawer and grabbed the little tabby before sprinting to the door he'd come from, his footfalls almost nonexistent. His cat, however, did _not_ like being carried so roughly. She wriggled out of his grasp and scampered underneath a large armchair.

Scipio watched without breathing, alarm shooting through him as the other door into the study was flung open. There stood his father, seeming to have trouble walking straight. A disgusting smell wafted in with him, and Scipio struggled not to gag, even from behind the cracked door.

His father slumped down in his chair, clunking a large, full glass onto the desk.

_Port_, Scipio thought. His heart sank. He would have to wait for his father to fall asleep before rescuing the kitten.

"_Mrreow?_" A small grey shape appeared in the desk. Scipio gasped, watching fearfully.

His father stood and flashed out an arm, and in the same motion, drew back and _threw_. A stunned cry of pain came from the floor where he had thrown.

"NO!" Scipio burst into the room, momentarily blinded by tears of anger. He rushed over to his friend and cradled her gently in his arms.

"Ge' the cat out 'f here!" Scipio's father slurred, his voice close to a screaming level. He pointed at Scipio and glared through blood-shot eyes.

The next two seconds were a blur for Scipio. Somehow he ended up with one fist in his father's gut, the other supporting the kitten. Both Scipio and his father stared at each other on shock for a few moments.

Scipio reacted first, turning on his heel to flee to his room. He didn't slow, even when his father yelled, "I WILL FIND YOU, do you hear me? I WILL!"

Scipio jolted back into the present. He remembered the rest of that day: he's bandaged up the cat's wounded legs and had let her rest; then he'd put run to find a doctor, still wearing his "Thief Lord" costume; on the way, Riccio had tried to rob him and failed, so Scipio had offered Riccio, Mosca, and Horned the Stella for shelter. The "Thief Lord" had turned from a game into a reality.

Thinking of his friends made Scipio remember the danger they were in. He stood, wincing from the stiffness in his legs.

_Not Scipio Massimo now,_ he thought._ Not a fearful child anymore. Now I'm the Thief Lord, ruled by none. Now I'm a thief, a protector of orphans, and a friend to many. What else could I ask for?_ Scipio smiled grimly before taking off toward the Stella.

Author Note:  
I don't really know what my problem is with writing depressing stories. Oh well.  
I might continue this story, if I get reviews for both this story and _Light in the Dark_. So please, please, please review!


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